


End of the Innocence, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-10
Updated: 2001-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Spring cleaning for the home and heart.





	End of the Innocence, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The End of the Innocence by Mik

TITLE: The End of the Innocence  
NAME: Mik  
E-MAIL:   
CATEGORY: MAJOR ANGST!!!!!!!  
RATING: R. M/K. This story contains hints of slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.  
SUMMARY: Spring cleaning for the home and heart.  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere as long as my name and addy stay attached.  
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist .  
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current.  
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Krycek Mulder  
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything.  
Author's Notes: Just a song before I go.  
If you like this, there's more at http://www.squidge.org/3wstop. If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

* * *

The End of the Innocence  
By Mik

I slapped the tape on the last box as if trying to keep something from escaping, and dropped it, with a grunt, on the stack of boxes in the hallway outside my door, just as Scully emerged from the stairwell.

She noted the dozen boxes of assorted sizes and sources, with the only commonality the liberal application of duct tape, and looked at me with a sort of wounded expression. "Are you moving, Mulder?" Her tone seemed to imply that I'd better not be, not without at least discussing it with her, first. 

I considered the stack with a sigh that ended with a hitched breath of frustration and pain. "No," I mumbled. "Moving on."

"What?"

I pushed my door open for her. "Oh, I just decided to do a little housecleaning," I said easily. Too easily.

She nudged a box as she passed and her eagle sharp eyes caught the gleam of a CD jewel case, from a torn corner. Don Henley's Actual Miles. "Mulder, you've got CDs in this box. You don't want to throw those away, do you?"

"Yes, I do." Especially that one. The first one he gave me. So many memories attached to it . laughter, slow dancing, hints and peeks at his history and heart, and lovemaking . always there was lovemaking. That one most certainly had to go. "Want some coffee?" I was proud of how calm and almost normal my voice sounded.

"Sure." She shrugged out of her jacket and scanned my unnaturally tidy apartment. "Something's changed."

"Yeah," I snorted. "It's clean." I knew what she meant, though. Over the last year, my place had become a repository for tiny and not so tiny tokens of his feelings. Ridiculous things that were out of place in a man's apartment. Like . stuffed animals, greeting cards with pictures of adorable little kids and pets, brightly colored candies and lollipops, garish gel ink pens, silly tee shirts and coffee mugs. And music. Lots of music. He had music to define every moment of life and he gave it to me. Why did it surprise me to find he was the Crown Prince of Napster gangsters? But all of that is gone now. It's over. He said goodbye. I shut the door and changed the locks.

Scully took her coffee and sat down, still looking around the suddenly empty room. "Well, you certainly were . thorough."

"Had to be." I brought my coffee in but couldn't make myself sit down on the futon where he was sitting last night before it all exploded. "You know me, I'm obsessive. Once I start, I can't stop."

Obsessive. He called me that last night. Said I obsessed too much. I couldn't help it. I knew something weird was going on. I know I don't know much about him when we're apart. I don't know where he goes, who he sees, where he sleeps or with whom. I just know that there was a foreseeable pattern to his movements, his comings (ah, yes, his comings) and his goings, and his attitudes while he was here. In his moody, mysterious way, he was predictable.

Only lately, he wasn't. His comings (yes, even his comings) and goings were further and farther between. He was less moody, brighter, happier . reminded me of a teenaged boy with the first blush of spring love. Reminded me of . of me. His consideration of me, the touches, the notes, the calls . less of them, less intimate when they came, gave me less confidence that I was his one and only . and as stupid, histrionic and, Scully forgive me, feminine, as it seemed, damn it, I wanted to be his one and only.

So, last night, when he showed up six and a half hours late, I was cold. I was hurt. Yes, I was even scared. And then he accused me of not loving him anymore. I know it sounds unbelievable. But that's what happened. That's why I woke up alone this morning, instead of having him in my arms. That's why the first thing I did was call a locksmith. That's why I spent my Saturday in a packing frenzy. 

Now, if only I could sweep out my memories as completely as I emptied my closets. If only I could erase the sound of his voice, the sensation of his body next to mine as we danced, the taste of his skin, the flavor of his kisses. If only I could wash away the feel of his fingers on my face, gliding down my chest, between my legs. If only I could stop feeling the strength in his hand when he shoved me. And I shoved back. And if only I could stop aching for him, in my body, in my heart. Oh, God, I am so obsessive. And he is so gone.

"Mulder?"

I focused on her. Scully was staring up at me. "Scully."

"Are you all right? You look ." She stood up and reached to my cheek. "You looked for a moment as if you were going to cry."

I shook my head. I don't cry. I won't. I can't. I'll have a few miserable days, and then contain it all in a well-taped box at the back of my heart, never let myself think about him again. "It's probably all the dust I stirred up today."

"Hmm . well," she put her cup on my completely empty coffee table. "I came by to invite you out for pizza."

"That would be great." There is a God and He just sent me a little angel. "Let me get my coat."

In my bedroom, I shoved suits aside to reach for my jacket, and there it was. How did I miss it? His sweatshirt. Oh, it wasn't really his sweatshirt. I'm pretty certain that he never actually attended University of Cincinnati, but he wore it often enough. And then one day he sent me some CDs he'd burned off Napster, and for lack of packing material, wrapped them in this shirt. I put the jacket aside and tugged the sweatshirt over my head . as if wrapping myself in his arms one last time. 

"Okay," I said, returning to the living room. "Let's go."

Halfway to the stairs, I stalled. "Go get the car started, Scully. I forgot my wallet."

As soon as I knew she was downstairs, I went back, and tore the rest of the corner away and retrieved that CD. Maybe tonight I'll listen to End of the Innocence, and dream about him one more time.

\- END -

  
Archived: May 18, 2001 


End file.
